


remedies for the witching hour

by sevener



Category: Hockey RPF, Original Work
Genre: College/University, General Handwaving, Light Angst, M/M, Magic, Magical Sickness, Soul Bond, dudes being sensitive, mentions of batman v superman, quebec being quebec but with magic, very barely related to hockey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 09:49:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10637373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevener/pseuds/sevener
Summary: “I’ve just been feeling really run down since… well since a little before the break I guess,” Jake mumbles, eyes flickering between Tom’s face and the floor. “Sleeping has been um, tough. And I’ve basically had a constant headache for like a straight week, but it’s not like a normal one. It’s like my whole body has a headache.”Tom has a moment of complete confusion before it hits him. He should have recognized it immediately, what with the smog around Jake, it was so obvious to him now. Les maux d’âme.





	

Jake looks like shit.

 

It’s the first Tom has seen of him since Tom left for reading week, and it is taking the combined force of Jake’s shut-the-fuck-up-about-it look and Tom’s memory of the one time he ignored that to keep Tom confined to his own stall as he suits up.

 

Of course, if Tom were to walk over to Jake right now and ask him why the circles under his eyes are the darkest Tom’s ever seen them, practically bruise-like, it almost certainly wouldn’t involve as much shouting and cussing. Notwithstanding, Tom figures his concerns can be shelved for the next hour and change.

 

Halfway through practice Tom is seriously reconsidering.

 

Jake had been visibly off during warmups, but Tom hadn’t really worried until they started running drills; Jake flubbed on nearly every pass, botched at least three manageable backchecks, and hadn’t won a single battle along the boards all practice. Conspicuous, to say the least, for a first line D-man.

 

Not to mention that Jake looks about two seconds away from breaking his stick over the first hard surface available, and doesn’t much seem like he has any reservations about that surface being his own head.

 

It’s only the first practice since break, but Tom knows that Coach is cutting them a real break when they get back on the bench, after a scrimmage shift that had them both gritting their teeth, and all the chewing out Coach gives them is a look that clearly says _get your shit together._

 

Tom waits out in the hall for Jake to finish changing. The guy was giving off more _leave me the fuck alone_ vibes in the dressing room, but Thomas knows Jake will be amenable to a confrontation away from the other guys. 

 

His face goes from frustrated to resigned when he sees Tom in the hallway. As he steps forwards, Tom’s suspicions are confirmed. The harsh fluorescents above them make the Veil between magic and magical planes unstable, finally exposing the buildup of frustrated magic hanging around Jake. Tom had been sensing it earlier, but wasn’t sure the grating heaviness that had saturated the locker room was really coming from Jake until this moment. It draped over him like dark, greasy smog.

 

“How’s it going Morrow?” Thomas asks lightly, holding his hand out for a fist bump. When Jake knocks his knuckles against Tom’s, his whole body seems to shiver for a second. Tom’s eyebrows draw together.

 

“I’m um. I think I might be… sick?” Jake replies, then glances away. For a second he looks so upset that Tom almost regrets asking, knowing that Jake hates talking about personal shit, but his concern quickly overrides the feeling. Getting anything out of Jake is a game of patience.

 

When Jake finally turns back to Thomas he doesn’t say anything for a long moment. His dark eyes scan Tom’s face for…something, Tom doesn’t know what, but Jake seems to find it, because his shoulders relax minutely under his faded grey henley. 

 

“I’ve just been feeling really run down since… well since a little before the break I guess,” Jake mumbles, eyes flickering between Tom’s face and the floor. “Sleeping has been um, tough. And I’ve basically had a constant headache for like a straight week, but it’s not like a normal one. It’s like my whole body has a headache.”

 

Tom has a moment of complete confusion before it hits him. He should have recognized it immediately, what with the smog around Jake, it was so obvious to him now. _Les maux d’âme._

 

Before he could stop himself Tom felt his fingers twitch, twisting the magic in the air around him until Jake’s psyche became visible. Tom barely holds back his gasp.

 

He had only ever seen Jake’s psyche once before, at the first team practice. Dupont had been trying to show Thomas some gimmicky spell that would make his gloves mend themselves. Jake had skated by the bench while Dups had been casting, the manipulation of magic had made the Veil thin and it had been impossible not to notice Jake’s psyche through the holes in the barrier. 

 

Pink. Jake’s psych was Pastel pink, specifically. Terribly at odds with Jake’s personality. It wrapped around Jake like living armour under his pads, breathing with him. Tom noticed it was also unusually muted and gauzy looking. He had never forgotten the exact shade of it, had never seen anything like it before or after. 

 

He, of course, hadn’t ever mentioned to Jake that he had glimpsed his psyche; Jake had never once brought up magic to him, and it never really seemed like the right time to say _hey I once saw your psyche months ago.. wanna talk about it?_

 

Tom’s mom had told him all about the english families who swept their magic under the rug, who preferred to blend in seamlessly with those who couldn’t harness it, loathe to designate themselves as the Magical Other after the confrontations that had gone down on the west coast even after several decades. For as long as Tom’s known him, Jake has never once talked about magic with respects to himself or his family, and seemed to be uncomfortable whenever Tom himself practiced.

 

Jake’s psyche now though, Tom won’t forget for entirely different reasons.

 

It looks like Jake’s psyche has recently lost a fight to a shredding machine. Ragged, threadbare strings of psyche hang off of his body, as if somebody had tried to mummify him with twine but did a piss-poor job of it. The strands around Jake’s chest are the exception, they’re wrapped tightly, squeezing the too-pale skin of his ribs.

 

The whole thing is glowing a sickly yellow-brown that reminds Tom of gasoline. His stomach rolls. Tom wants to grab Jake, shake him, hug him, demand _What the hell happened, are you insane, why didn’t you get help for this?_ but one glance at his friend makes him hold back.

 

His defensive partner has his head bowed, hair obscuring his face, still dark and wet from his shower, dripping onto the floor. Tom sees that the back of Jake’s usually pale neck is red. He’s… embarrassed, Tom realizes. Tom quickly lets the Veil snap back into place. He hadn’t meant to pry.

 

_Les maux d’âme_ are quite common amongst Quebecois kids who move away from home for the first time, though not everyone is susceptible. Any sizeable change in ambient magic composition can trigger it, depending on how sensitive the Mage is. Jake must not have prepared for the energy drop off during the break, what with the team leaving and taking their energy with them. 

 

And something else, Tom has never heard of, much less seen a case of _les maux_ this bad before. There has to be a reason that Jake’s is so degraded after only a week and a half, it had looked… _rotten_. 

 

Tom wants to ask why Jake didn’t say anything during the break, why he didn’t call, but he’s already gawked at Jake’s psyche without asking. Tom’s sure this has to do with why Jake never talks about his magic, and if he’d rather let his psyche degrade like this than tell Tom right away, it’s probably a really personal thing. He’s definitely intruded enough.

 

So instead Tom smiles and puts one hand firmly on Jake’s shoulder, fingers biting gently into the muscles underneath, hoping to ground his friend a little. A breath hisses out through Jake’s teeth. Tom can’t help but wonder how long it’s been since Jake’s had even just simple physical contact without pads in the way. Jake had been alone all break. He suddenly feels distinctly aware of the three inches he has on Jake, even though they’re both big guys.

 

“I’ve totally got you man, don’t worry about it.” Tom says, unsure of how direct he should be about the topic, but trying to sound confident. 

 

Jake looks like he believes him when he meets Tom’s eyes again. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah man, you’re gonna be just fine.” 

 

Tom holds out his free hand for a bro-hug and Jake grasps it, pulling Tom forward until they’re pressed together. The light above them flickers a little. The air in the hallway is so heavy with magic that Thomas can practically taste it, being pulled towards Jake’s starving psyche. Tom itches to help it push through to Jake, but he holds off.

 

Thomas doesn’t even know the english term for _maux d’âme,_ much less their etiquette about interpersonal energy sharing, and he’s never helped mend a psyche anywhere near this degraded before. No way he’s trying anything without calling his mom first.

 

—

 

He hadn’t wanted to tell Tom. Jake had told himself before walking into that locker room that he didn’t need to involve Tom, least of all involve his magic, in this whole… thing.

 

The break had been a bit tougher on Jake than he’d ever prefer to admit; he had been expecting a chill week to himself, time to recover from whatever cold had gotten him feeling shitty right before the break. Instead as the days passed shit had just gotten even worse, and in ways he couldn’t help but feel were not exactly in the realm of normal. By the end of the week he was sure.

 

Jake knew he looked like a corpse warmed over when he got to practice. It had been a sharp reminder of what it felt like to have his cracks exposed around people who would ask about them, walking into that locker room where everyone could see that something wasn’t quite right.

 

The problem was that Jake couldn’t even fully explain when asked, because he had no idea what the fuck was happening. The shit going on in his body was freaking him out so badly that he hadn’t even told Tom, his best friend, the whole truth. Hadn’t told him about the buzzing. 

 

Sometime during the break it had made itself known to him, like the humming of a lightbulb that you only noticed when everything else got quiet enough. Except unlike a lightbulb it had started to get louder, too loud, impossible to ignore, like a headache he could hear, making him itch when he tried to sleep, to focus, to sit still. Jake’s whole body seemed to shake with it sometimes.

 

He had wanted to call his family so many times that week and tell them, beg for some kind of help, but every time he heard his mother’s warnings in his head, to _stay away from magic_ , and couldn’t help but feel that he had brought this on himself. He had insisted on going to school in the east, where magic was more concentrated, where there was more open practice. Now here he was, probably fucking cursed, and scared out of his mind.

But then he had seen Tom standing in the hallway waiting for him, face set in stubborn concern, and Jake had tried not to give too much away but he was so goddamn exhausted from practice, from the buzzing, from his fear.

 

Tom’s reaction had made Jake want to throw up. He had stared at Jake with a look of complete horror for thirty straight seconds, unmoving, eyes far away. But then Tom had said he could fix it, and when Jake looked back at him his face was certain, resolved, and Jake couldn’t _not_ trust that look.

 

Then… nothing.

 

Well not exactly nothing. Tom starts giving him back-pats and bro-hugs like they’re going out of style. Which. Seeing as Tom's immediate reaction to Jake’s post-practice confession had been to hug Jake for five straight minutes, it didn’t seem out of the realm of possibility that Tom operates on a mandate of curing people with cuddles. Still, it’s not exactly the immediate action he had been hoping for.

 

It’s a bit unnerving. Any opportunity for Tom to get as close as possible, he’s there with an arm slung over Jake’s shoulders, a hand on Jake’s lower back, a thigh pressed to Jake’s under the table. It gets to the point where it feels like they’re never in the same room without touching, with Tom seemingly on a mission for them to always be in the same room.

 

Then Jake’s headaches start to come down a bit, just enough for Jake to notice, after he spends a solid few hours in Tom’s company. The thought that Tom actually _is_ curing him with cuddles makes Jake smile, until it occurs to Jake that maybe the curse, or whatever it is, he still doesn’t actually know, is just so far along at this point that Tom can’t really help him. 

 

He doesn’t write off Tom’s help exactly, but Jake does redouble his efforts into scouring the internet for help. Which means he’s totally caught off guard when it happens. Four days into Tom’s apparent mission to drown Jake in physical affection, Tom casually puts his arm around Jake and the buzzing _stops_. 

 

And _holyfuckingshititfeelssogood._

 

It happens at a team lunch. This is unfortunate for the simple reason that when Tom’s arm lands on Jake’s shoulders and the headache burning behind his eyes immediately ceases, Jake is totally unable to stop the instant moan of relief he lets out.

 

Half of it is cut off by the fry he was in the middle of eating, which he chokes on and starts coughing up. A small mercy for which he’s thankful. Jake’ll take the chirping for choking on his lunch over the embarrassment of moaning in front of most of his team any day. Cooper would literally never let him forget it. 

 

“ _Jesus Christ_ Morrow” Tom exclaims, slipping into french as he’s caught off guard. “Are you okay?” he asks, looking ready to deliver the Heimlich maneuver at a moment’s notice.

 

“Yeah I’m fine. Just wasn’t expecting that.” Jake replies, still not really sure what _that_ was. Tom doesn’t ask though, just nods in understanding, and then seems to realize that he can stop pounding Jake’s back now that the threat to his life is lying half-chewed on the table. Tom’s muscled arm settles back around Jake lightly.

 

That’s when it occurs to Jake that Tom might have done that, the instant headache relief, on purpose, because as soon as Tom touches him again it feels like a soothing balm has been spread over the irritated parts of his mind. It feels _so good._ Just sitting there, everything in his head still for the first time in a week and a half. Jake can’t help but melt a little.

 

Tom doesn’t say anything, but at the end of lunch he looks quietly pleased. There’s a little smile tucked in the left corner of his mouth. Jake is so warm on the inside. There’s something nameless in the centre of his chest, where it was hollow not even an hour ago, that’s now pleasantly sated. 

 

It doesn’t last. 

 

Only a few hours go by before Jake can feel himself fading again. Tom finds him in the library, staring at his textbook without really seeing it as the buzzing creeps back up his spine. He wordlessly sits down next to Jake and presses their elbows together. 

 

It’s been going on that same way for days. They spend most all of their free time together. Jake vacillates between cloud nine and feeling like he’s going to crawl out of his skin, the latter especially at night when he doesn’t see Tom for a long stretch of hours. He’ll wake up sweaty and shaking most mornings, but at least he’s sleeping for more than an hour at a time now.

 

Throughout all of this Tom has just looked completely unbothered. Like Jake isn’t asking anything of him when Tom wordlessly meets him after class and presses their forearms together. Like it’s nothing new or significant for him to meet for breakfast and sit on the same side of the table so that their forearms can touch, for Tom to watch as Jake’s breathing levels out.

 

It’s all Jake can do to keep all of the raw things inside of him from spelling themselves out on his face; instead they sit in a knot at the bottom of his stomach, and twist whenever Jake thinks about the warmth in Tom’s eyes on those mornings. 

 

Jake feels like a leaky bucket, his insides slowly seeping out, and instead of patching up the hole Jake is just letting Tom pour more of himself in. He doesn’t say this to Tom though; he’s grateful for even those couple hours of relief, for his continued silent promise to help Jake, even though Jake is terrified that he can’t. 

 

They say things get worse before they get better right? Jake can take feeling shitty and out of control if he gets out of this mess without anyone else getting involved, without his parents finding out.

 

Jake’s parents were always very clear with him; we don’t hate Mages, we just don’t want any part in what they do, and you don’t either.

 

If they found out that Jake was not only at the mercy of some unknown magical affliction but letting his 19 year old friend bliss him out with magic, fuck, they’d be livid. Worse though, if they knew how much Jake needs it now; needs Tom’s hands on him to feel okay, needs his magic. It’s exactly what his parents warned him about; they always said that Morrow blood tends to get tangled up with witchcraft.

 

Jake is hoping that’s more in the metaphorical sense than prophetic.

 

He doesn’t ask his mom about it when she calls, just spends an hour telling flimsy lies about how _completely normal things are_. His mom buys it, or she wants to believe it enough that she doesn’t ask. 

 

Thirty minutes later Jake meets Tom at the cafe across from his residence. As soon as they sit down Tom traps Jake’s calf between both of his, drawing a smile out of Jake. A light haze of pleasure washes over him in the next second, cutting off the buzzing in the back of his head abruptly. He only notices the tension he’d been carrying in his spine when it’s swept out of him. 

 

Jake gets through one module of reading before he feels like he can’t ignore it anymore. Tom hasn’t even touched his work, has just been sitting there, eyes the colour of amber in the sunlight, warm and rich like his skin, staring at Jake and looking significantly vexed. It’s making Jake’s skin itch in a different way than usual.

 

“ _What_ man?”

 

“Want to come over and watch a movie tonight?” Tom asks quickly, Quebecois accent tripping over the vowels. 

 

Not what Jake was expecting him to say, if Jake was expecting anything at all. Maybe _I’ve tried but I can’t help you,_ or _I can see how desperate you are for my magic and it’s not right,_ or _You should never have asked me for this._

 

Tom didn’t say any of that though. He’s just sitting there, bright eyed and earnest, so Jake says “Sure man, what time?” and pretends to get back to work when Tom tells him to come at seven.

 

—

 

When they settle on Tom’s bed to watch the movie, laptop balanced between them and backs against the wall, twin bed too small for them to sit lengthwise, Jake only just _barely_ presses their upper-arms together. 

 

Thomas can’t focus on the opening to _Batman V Superman_ with how hyperaware he is of the muscles in Jake’s bicep, tense against his own, practically straining for more contact. 

 

Thomas has met families who are super conservative, who frown at the mention of magic and look away when people start discussing _les maux d’âme,_ but he’s never met any families as repressed as Jake seems to be.

 

When Tom had gotten off of the phone with his mother a week ago he had felt only slightly reassured. When Tom had described Jake’s psyche to her she had sounded upset, told him that this boy must have been repressing his magic for a long time before this for his psyche to have survived. Tom wondered what had awakened Jake’s magic.

 

His mom had emailed Tom scans from their healing texts at home, with instructions to start with a little bit of magic only. She had said it was akin to nursing a starving person back to health, if you gave them too much food at once they’d throw it all back up. 

 

Tom has spent the last two weeks seizing every opportunity he could to feed a little bit of magic back into Jake’s psyche, but it was slow going. Their schedules meant frequent interruptions, and early on Jake would kick Tom out of his room if it was getting late, much to Tom’s frustration. Fortunately Jake had made himself more amenable after the lunch incident, when Tom had upped the dose of magic significantly. Still, Jake seemed not to know the full specifics of how Tom was helping him, which would make sense if Tom’s mom was right in her theory that Jake wasn’t very familiar with his own magic.

 

After a week of this Tom was finally sure that Jake’s psyche was strong enough to handle a bigger healing spell, one that would take a bit more time and concentration but would almost surely restore it, so Tom had proposed a movie as a cover. They have to _really_ be touching for it to work though.

 

Tom tries to get Jake’s attention by staring at the side of his head, but Jake refuses to react. Finally Tom elbows his friend in the ribs. Jake nearly jumps out of his skin.

 

“Dude, I said I’d help you right? But you’ve got to _let_ me, you have to help yourself too man.” Tom says seriously. 

 

Jake says nothing in response, just sits there with his mouth hanging open, looking confused as hell. Tom rolls his eyes he throws his arm around Jake’s shoulders, then pulls him over until he’s resting snugly against Tom’s side. He finds himself concentrating on the mole on Jake’s wrist as he gathers energy from the room. Tom finally let’s the magic pulse between them.

 

Jake goes completely boneless against him, like a puppet with it’s strings suddenly cut. Tom actually _hears_ all of the breath leave Jake’s body at once, and feels his own eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the intense reaction. Was that listed in the _possible side effects_ section for this spell?

 

“Jake, man, it’s really not that embarrassing to have _les maux d’âme_. In fact the way you’ve been playing it has been borderline dangerous.” Tom scolds gently, then gives Jake’s bicep a comforting squeeze. 

 

Jake turns to look at Tom head-on, and his eyes are soft and hazy, more gold in them than usual. “Dangerous? What am I doing that’s dangerous? You’re the one fucking with my head with your magic bullshit.” Though he’s whispering and his body is loose, the twist of Jake’s mouth looks distinctly angry.

 

Tom frowns, “I haven’t been fucking with you, I’ve been healing you! You told me like last week that you have _les maux d’âme._ ” 

 

Jake’s frown twists towards confusion.“Lay moe dame?” He asks, pulling at the french all wrong. “Man I have no idea what the fuck you’re saying but I know what I’ve felt, it’s magic fucking with my head.”

 

“Fucking english people. How do you say it. You told me you have the soul..aches? The headaches in your soul Jake, you have them! I looked at your psyche, it was wrecked dude!”

 

Instead of looking offended at Tom’s confession of unapproved voyeurism Jake just looks even more confused. That’s when Tom realizes that Jake really doesn’t know what’s going on. Like really-really doesn’t.

 

“Wait, Jake. are you a Mage?” Tom asks, testing.

 

“No! What kind of question is that? I thought you guys could tell who’s who!” Jake answers, indignant. 

 

Tom smiles. “Yeah, we- I can, Jake. And I can see that you’re magical, you have a Mage’s psyche.”

 

Jake’s mouth snaps closed, jaw tense. “That’s impossible.” He growls. “My parents..”

 

Jake trails off, crossing his arms over his chest. They both seem to realize at once that Thomas still has his arm wrapped tight around Jake, who then shrugs it off with a jerk. Tom doesn’t resist, though he feels the healing spell he had been building bend and twist around him, untethered on one end.

 

“Look, I don’t know what you or your family think about magic, but I do know that your psyche looked _fucked up_ a week ago and I think I know how to finally heal you. You’ve been feeling weird right? Sensitive to the magic around you, headaches, full-body pins and needles but it hurts?” Jake looks up at that. “And it helps right, when we’re touching, you can feel the difference?”

 

Jake’s jaw worked for a few seconds, but eventually he let out a grudging “Yes.”

 

“That’s not a fluke Jake, I know what I’m doing here. Well, mostly. And we’re finally at a point where I think I can put an end to this, the soul aches, or whatever they are in english.” 

 

Tom looks at Jake pleadingly and Jake stares right back at him, a standoff of sorts. Jake looked tired, more worn down even than when he sat down on Tom’s bed twenty minutes ago; his brown eyes were flat and shadowed, framed by bruised skin and pale lashes. His ashy brown hair was mussed, flat on one side from being pressed against Tom’s shoulder. 

 

Thomas’s fingers ached with it, the desire to reach out and cast the spell and make Jake look _alive_ again, but he held back. Something in the air felt heavy. 

 

When Jake swallows Tom can see it. Slowly- _slowly_ , Jake lifts a hand a presses it to the side of Tom’s neck, palm against his pulse point, eyes still locked onto Tom’s. 

 

“I trust you.” Jake says firmly.

 

Tom closes his eyes, he can feel his heart beating in his throat, against his friend’s hand. “Thank you.” He says, whispers. Jake’s fingers squeeze lightly once, an acknowledgement. 

 

Tom opens his eyes. Jake looks pleased. 

 

“So to do this, it’s a healing spell, we need to be pretty full contact. Like we were before, basically, if you’re comfortable with that.” Tom says, trying to keep his voice steady, all business, but probably mostly failing. Tom is really aware of Jake’s thumb on the edge of his jaw. Can picture perfectly the contrast between Jake’s strong pale fingers and the flush of pleasure surely blooming over his own darker skin.

 

“Yeah that’s fine.” Jake says and takes his hand back. Tom compensates for the loss by grabbing at Jake’s shoulders and reeling him in close. The healing spell that Tom had been crafting pulses back through Tom’s chest and towards Jake, anchoring itself on Jake’s sternum. 

 

His d-partner melts against him once again, but Tom ignores the feeling, concentrating hard on all the places that they’re touching, writing energy into those spaces, building onto the spell.

 

He feels the Veil thin out around them but doesn’t spare any part of himself to glance at Jake’s psyche, even though he really wants to. Instead Tom reaches out with his mind to tug on the wisps of magic floating around them, like he’s picking apples, pulling them down and directing them towards Jake. 

 

Tom can feel Jake’s eyes on him, then feels his breath hitch as the spell locks into place between them. 

 

“Holy shit,” he hears Jake whisper, and when Tom finally moves his head to look at him he sees Jake’s hands are bunched into fists where they rest on his thighs.

 

“You okay? It shouldn’t hurt, so tell me if it does.” Tom says softly. 

 

A bloom of rosiness spreads over Jake’s cheeks. “I can promise you that it doesn’t hurt,” he grits out, shifting restlessly under Tom’s arm. 

 

Tom can’t help but smirk a bit at that. “So it feels good then.” 

 

“Yeah,” says Jake, except he stretches the word out long, caught on a sigh. “Is it supposed to feel this good?”

 

“I don’t know, actually, but it’s probably a good sign.” Tom answers. “This is the first time I’ve done this spell. Usually _les maux_ can be cured by simple magic, but your case was past that so I had to use a healing spell.”

 

Tom curls his hand over Jake’s forearm to give the spell another anchor point. Goosebumps break out all over Jake’s arm even as the air around them warms further with active magic. “Suppose you don’t know how much longer this spell will take then, if this is your first time?” Jake mumbles, gaze on Tom’s hand.

 

“Uh, well I can check on your psyche, see how it’s doing. That is, if that’s okay with you - some people are really private about that kind of stuff, most Mages are.”

 

Jake shrugs and makes a gesture with his free hand like _go ahead._ Tom only has to send the tiniest jolt of energy through his fingers lightly to disturb the diminished Veil. 

 

A huge smile takes over Tom’s face when he sees it; pink! Bright, so much brighter than that first time he saw it. Happy, glowing pink, snaking over Jake’s body, looking more like fluffy yarn than the threadbare twin of two weeks ago, and loose around Jake’s chest. The strands are moving lazily, knitting the new energy into the cocoon-like encasement around Jake’s torso.

 

Tom is so distracted by the return of Jake’s unique colour that he almost doesn’t notice it, the single strand that doesn’t loop back towards Jake’s body. Suspended like a miniature tight rope between them. Tom reaches out and runs one finger over it; it’s soft and warm, lifelike under the pad of Tom’s finger, running from Jake’s chest to Tom’s own neck. _Calisse. Un pacte d’âme._

 

Jake watches with a raised eyebrow as Tom runs his fingers over the hollow of his own throat; Tom can feel the thread of Jake’s psyche looped around him like a necklace, but Jake can’t see it. 

 

Tom clears his throat and lets go of the Veil. It’s so thin from casting-magic that Jake’s psyche is barely obscured, bathing them both in soft pink that only Tom can see. 

 

“It’s looking good man, really taking to this healing spell. Should only be little while, maybe a bit less than an hour.” Tom reports, hand still rubbing over the base of his throat.

 

Jake nods sagely and looks down at his hands, where Tom is still loosely holding Jake’s wrist.

 

“Y'know, I thought for sure I was cursed.” Jake says quietly. “My parents - they basically told me to stay away from magic, said something bad would happen because of it. And then I came here, to a team and a school with so much magic, and shit starts happening that I can’t explain…”

 

Tom frowns. “That must have been really scary, and I guess this isn’t much of an answer either eh? Now that your magic is active you’re going to need to learn how all of this works.”

 

“Fuck. Yeah. Not to mention the fuck ton of questions I have for my parents.”

 

Tom clears his throat. “I actually, well - I think I know what activated your magic. If that’s one of your questions..”

 

Jake raises an eyebrow.

 

“Okay so, working theory here but, um. We have a - I guess it translates as like a soul pact? Or like a bond, between our psyches. Really it’s that your psyche is attached to me. Mine. My psyche.” Jake looks thoroughly bewildered. “I think that was your first spell, I only just saw it now when I checked, but, I think it’s probably been around since before the break - that’s when you said this all started right?”

 

“Yeah, yeah I did.” Jake replies slowly. “So what does it mean?”

 

“It kinda just means we like, trust each other I guess? That our energy is compatible. Oh and like other stuff for spell casting, like it can make healing spells work faster which is good, or like astral projection I’ve heard is easier when you’re bonded, oh and anything with-“ Jake has his eyebrow raised again, but now he looks amused.

 

“I’m getting carried away with this aren’t I?” Tom asks rhetorically. Jake nods anyway.

 

“You’re okay though?” Tom asks in a low voice.

 

“Yeah,” Jake says with a little smile. “Yeah I am, hey - Thank you Thomas. For doing this, for always having my back.”

 

“Of course, man. S’what friends are for right?” Tom replies.

 

Jake looks up at him, doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

 

“But.” A deep breath. “It’s more than that,” he says firmly. Not a question. 

 

There’s something, something in Jake’s eyes, his voice, that makes Tom sure he’s not talking about magic right now.

 

Tom shift closer, until he’s near enough that he could count Jake’s eyelashes. “Yeah. Or, I want it to be more than that, because you’re my… my guy.”

 

A huge smile breaks across Jake’s face, like the sun breaking through clouds. “Oh I’m your guy?” he asks, teasing but obviously pleased.

 

Before Tom can retort Jake crowds in suddenly and kisses Tom.

 

He kisses Tom, and it’s both urgent and tender; confident movements, practiced, but also lingering. Like Tom is something to revel in. Steals kisses like waves crashing onto the surf and drawing back in the sea, push and pull.

 

When Jake finally breaks the kiss he’s something near breathless, hands on either side of Tom’s jaw. His eyes are positively shining, and he’s smiling so hard that Tom has to hold back from calling him a dork on reflex.

 

Jake leans in so that their foreheads are pressed together, so that they’re sharing air. Tom’s chest is full of butterflies, or firecrackers, or both. “You know I like that Tom.”

 

Jake ducks in quickly to steal another kiss. 

 

“I like that I’m your guy.“ One more press of his mouth, slower. Tom’s face feels like it’s on fire.

 

“And I like that you’re mine.”

**Author's Note:**

> okay i couldn't reread this anymore, so if there are any glaring errors or confusing bits please let me know. all comments are so so appreciated.  
> might rework the ending at some point because to me it feels rushed


End file.
